Expression and obedience to sing a new song

Long ago, I used to think I was a good writer. Meaning, I wrote well and didn't have to craft it, work at it. I used to think that this was a part of who I was. I identify as a writer. But no. I'm no writer when compared to those who proliferate words, string together sentences, and build blocks of paragraphs. Those who truly have the inclination, a talent, and work at it...

Yet, there is an urge within me to return to the exploration of this work and even to explore it as a slice of my identity pie. The longer I'm away from writing, the more I think about it. I stopped for myriad reasons stemming from busyness in work, marriage, and parenting. Additionally, I don't currently have a particular story at the tip of my tongue nor do I have inspiring phrases that stop me on my walks and cause me to find a piece of paper quick! Or to open up my Notes app on my iPhone to dictate something unique and delicious. Not right now anyway. I used to and perhaps I will again.

What this urge seems to be, I've discovered after thinking and thinking, is rather a need to express. Expression. That's a word that resonated with my spirit when it dawned on me. Expression is the vehicle and maybe the writing medium is one that I can rediscover and hone once again. Or perhaps another medium will allow me to express the shouts, cries, understood silence, and other thoughts, emotions, truths, stories, beauty...

Scripture of course has helped me find this vocal expression and lead it rightly. The Psalmist, as well as others, describes in poetic imagery the new song of the redeemed. We are commanded to sing a new song. As a ransomed child of God, I am to sing a new song to Him, in praise, worship, thanksgiving. I am to add my voice to the multitude. I am to testify to the blood of the Lamb by the way he has shed His blood for me. Only I can add my voice to this. Only my experience can add the right timbre to the chord. Here I am! then, writing in an effort to explore expression again for the sake of obedience to this commandment of song. Journaling, corresponding, blogging...walking walking walking

Summer days

Summer days at the beach. Instant friends made. Waves fought. Sand kingdoms built and destroyed. My boys running, screaming joyfully under the sun and in the wind and not needing much redirection or re-calibration. much...

Summer days living the mundane life somewhere else: making meals, setting tables, clearing and cleaning dishes, laundry, bathing... But the mundane has a layer to it, one of freshness like mint in an iced drink because it's being tasted somewhere new. Different settings and cherished characters in the story. Loved ones, grandparents, stop in the middle of washing that dish to tell stories of days past and people still remembered alive or gone, here or there.

Summer days. We ache for them in the middle of the polar vortex. We think about them when warmth comes only out of heat vents. We dream about them during the daily grind that the other seasons seem to demand. And they come, they are here, and then they go again, our year pivoting on these moments in which we can slow down and think, and talk and recall.

Summer days stretch yourself. Summer days stay here forever. Or even if not, summer days remain in me until next time.

38 more days of summer - joy?

38 days left of summer.

Today the 4 boys of mine have been high on imagination, running around as superheros, chasing and running from monsters who are "traveling up the planet core," fighting, biting, hitting, hugging, and giggling.

It's only 11 A.M.

I put on Mozart to balance out the sensory input to my anxious heart. It's kind of working. Crescendos kind of covering roars and crashes. Or more realistically, Mozart provides the soundtrack and in turn ends up actually playing a fifth character in their Monster game.

Right now there's no fighting. I am surfing, listening, writing, thinking, praying...

Last week we ended up at the swimming pool. A set of grandparents were in town and they had the older 2 boys take turns spending the night at their hotel, getting one-on-one attention. We filled out days otherwise with walks around the college campus, eating at food trucks, splashing in the splash pad, grilling out. It sounds like a romantic summer. I'm not sure all of our spirits were synced in that way.

I read recently in Deuteronomy that because Israel "did not serve the LORD your God with joyfulness and gladness of heart" they would serve their enemies. (28:47). I'm going to apply this out of context to myself - joy is elusive for me. Perhaps this is due to my misunderstanding of what biblical joy is. I search for joy that is timeless and three dimensional both in the future, present and past. I pray for the spirit to provide me with this fruit, a daily manna and mercy. And yet I'm not sure I accept the gift or realize it's even there before me. Lewis describes his salvation and the presence of the LORD as joy. In my mind I understand this as being a slave to Christ and not to sin and the inner freedom this actually produces. Is that joy? Do I serve the LORD with joyfulness and gladness of heart? Do you? What does that look like in my life as a wife, mother, friend?

Now they snap me back to tiger mews. I must feed the animals in my zoo.

45 (week)days of Summer

Today we began it. We began 45 days of summer. There are 44 weekdays left of summer. And today is still going...

This thing called ParentHood, this blog, this season, this identity goes on and on. There are certainly joys and certainly sorrows. And they too go on.

And in everything, and with everything, we are to give praise, honor, glory to our creator, sustainer, deliverer, Jesus. Yes, I thank you.

Who knows if I will type again ever! Lord knows. But to update - we are now a family of 6. 4 sons delivered to us for a short while, though longer than ever these 45 days...

And we live on, daily putting off, putting on. We are but wandering pilgrims looking for the map to the road that appears in front of us every day, this day.